Red Hood: JOY
by AJ Garcia
Summary: She was there. She was someone ordinary. Plain. Wrong place, wrong time. Olena would argue it was the right place because her bump into the Red Hood started everything. She would say that it was the right time because spilling her drink on Bruce Wayne had tied them all together. But people rarely saw things her way. Red Hood sure didn't. Set one year after Under the Red Hood.
1. One Red Helmet

**ONE RED HELMET**

She popped her collar against the cold as evening descended. The blonde looked to the sky, contemplating if she should buy herself a car. Gotham was turning to night. She hastened her steps as she walked down the old boardwalk. She was currently working as a secretary at an old financial office located on this road. Her job was located on the older side of town, commonly known as the rougher side of Gotham. The 19-year-old female tried to think of her upcoming test tomorrow instead of the encroaching darkness. The bus stop was just ahead, but she comes to stop just short of it. There was a sound of squealing tires. She turned.  
A car was speeding down the street towards her and she could faintly see a motorcycle on its tail. The figure on the motorcycle wore a red helmet and threw something at the back tire of the car. The tire exploded with a loud bang in the car swerved. And not only did the veer to the side, the car swerved right for her!

She screamed and had just enough sense to leap to the side with her heart intact. She fell to the cement and heard a loud bang next to her. Debris fell on her as she lay there and breathed. Simply breathed. Before she really had time to think, she was on her feet and moving toward the car. Ripping the door open without so much as a thought, she tried to waking the man. A fire had begun under the hood of the car.

The motorcycle had skidded to a stop next to the accident and the hooded person on top sat there, unmoving. She hardly paid him mind as she struggled to pull one of the two unconscious men out of the front seat.

"Aren't you going to help me?" She struggled to move the heavy man. She managed to get him onto the sidewalk, but they needed to get farther away. _The car can explode at any minute!_

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the red helmet man move. He maneuvered to the other side of the car and swiftly threw out the man that was in the driver seat. She barely heard the sound of a gun cocking before a shot was fired.

The girl straightened in time to see the figure with the helmet walk around the vehicle. She stepped between him and the unconscious man. _That's not a helmet…_ Her body trembled but she stood her ground. Unceremoniously, he shoved her out of his way. She had just caught her footing when she heard the sound of the gun being prepped. "No!" She spun around.

The shot fired.

She choked on her spit, heart stopping at the sight. The man that turned to face her bore a red symbol on his chest. She knew this Super. How could she not? He got almost as much airtime on the news as Batman and Robin combined.

He was putting his gun away and popping his neck. "I'd step back if I were you."

His voice sounded robotic coming from under the red mask. She supposed he had to be. _How else can a human kill - no, murder - someone else so easily?_

She backed up only a step. "You killed them!"

He stilled with his arms hanging loosely at his sides and seemed to consider her. "It was justice."

"No, that wasn't justice. That wasn't fairness. That-" the blonde jerked her arm towards the car, "that there was an execution!"

"It was the fastest way to resolve the issue, so shut that trap of yours." He walked his motorcycle a safe distance away from the car. The female followed him.

"So you're just going to leave them there like that?"

"Listen, lady-"

"Olena."

"Okay, whatever. If I had to explain my actions to every questioning person, then no one would get saved in this place. My sense of justice might seem warped to you, but my sense of justice is better than Gotham's judicial systems. It's better than the Batman. If you have a problem, take it up with them."

"But you shouldn't go around killing people-" Olena gripped the front of his handlebars as he mounted. His gun was at her head in the next instant.

"I don't have time for this. Step the hell away from my bike. You know who I am. I'm not above shooting a woman."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the light blonde had her hands in the air and stepped back. Oddly enough, she wasn't as shaken as she had been earlier. It was like becoming desensitized to a heart-stopping roller coaster. Once Olena was a safe distance away, the male shot off on his motorcycle. She watched him go with a frown.

The car behind her exploded and had almost blown her over in shock alone.

Folding her arms, she waited for the cops that were no doubt on their way. Sirens sang into the evening as Olena turned to the flames. The corpses were unrecognizable piles of a charred mess. The sight turned the blonde's stomach queasy. She took a breath as she attempted to keep her nerves at bay.

"Red Hood, you're a crook."

* * *

Author's Note: Welcome one and all to a new world!

Please keep an open mind with the new OC and my 

telling of Gotham's fresh story, Red Hood: J.O.Y. The

story takes place in a time after Under the Red Hood

film. Prepare yourself for villains, blackmail, and love!


	2. Two Cops

**TWO COPS**

There were two cops who interviewed Olena that day, their names? Ben and Jerry. All right, no, that was the name of the ice cream she ate later on once she got home. The names of the cops were Lieutenant Greg Tucker and Commissioner James Gordon. The lieutenant was required to record and report all that she had seen, heard, and done. The commissioner, however, was present to hear all the details that pertained to the vigilante.

Commissioner Gordon wanted to speak with her alone before she was free to go, but that wasn't until late into the night. While the lieutenant asked many generalized questions, the commissioner did not ask how she felt. "You're a hard person to pinpoint, Miss Nelson. You use your mother's maiden name when you live with your father, and quite well I might add. What are you doing on this side of town?"

"My job is here, sir. I was heading home when the accident occurred, as you well know. I try and make it a habit not to upset the law."

"Do you know Red Hood?"

She wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that. "Not before tonight. Commissioner, that man can hardly be called a hero. He murdered those two men in cold blood."

"I know." His hands dug deeper into his coat pockets. "Frankly I am amazed you aren't in shock. You said he held a gun to your head. Some women would have screamed and run."

"I don't have a death wish if that is what you are trying to get at." Olena folded her arms.

"Miss Nelson, I am simply trying to straighten the facts. Your recount of your actions tonight is of someone who is... Familiar to him."

Olena shook her head. There was no way she could be connected with such a person. She leads a quiet lifestyle. She had witnessed robberies and muggings. It was Gotham. Who hadn't? But being up close and personal with the real psychos of the city, that was rarer. "I don't understand."

Gordon glanced at the flashing lights of the police cars parked on either side of the street. "He could have shot you, but he didn't."

The blonde female uncrossed her arms. "Please be clear with your questions."

"How many supers have you met in your lifetime?"

"...Two."

"Any of them more than once?"

"No." Olena squeezed her toes to keep from needlessly twitching. The quick, rapid-fire questions were uncomfortable, but at least they were getting somewhere.

"Did Red Hood say anything particularly memorable?"

 _Of course, he did. He told me to shut my mouth!_

"Uh," she pushed her hair behind an ear, "he said something about his warped sense of justice being better than the judicial system or something like that."

"Hm…" The commissioner shifted, "What mood was he in when you spoke to him?"

"Frustrated, annoyed... And in a hurry. Like he had somewhere really important to be."

The commissioner nodded his head a couple of times, looking as if he was almost lost in thought. His eyes took in her appearance and waved one of the police officers over. "I want someone to escort Miss Nelson home."

Olena tried to protest, but James Gordon just shook his head. "Indulge me, please. You remind me of my daughter. Here, this is my number," he hands over a card, "In case you remember anything that might be of importance."

"I'm sorry, importance to what, sir?"

"Anything that may help me keep these hero wannabes accountable."

Olena smiled to the man that reminded her of her father. He's not a hero; she wanted to tell him but didn't.

It was when she got home that she sought out the counsel of Ben and Jerry, throwing her bag onto the large island in the kitchen. Her home was large, very much so. It was completely paid off, though. That was one burden off of her shoulders.

Taking a spoonful of cool goodness into her mouth, Olena gazed around the kitchen. She had once thought of buying a pet, or three. She had volunteered an animal shelter and then worked as a secretary to a veterinarian after that. Seeing how heartbroken animals could make people, she was never able to bring herself to buy one.

 _Shouldn't I be in shock?_

 _Perhaps I inherited Dad's nerves of steal?_

She loved this house, especially when she had people to share it with.

She kicked off her heels to feel the cold tile below her aching toes. She'd give much to wear combat boots and converse to work again. Her lips tilted up at the very idea.

The back door to her house opened, the telltale squeak echoing in the house. Her spoon-filled hand froze midair. Her eyes tracked to the hallway on her right. Her father had told her to never oil that door, and this was why.

The blonde carefully opened a drawer and retrieved a pistol, training it on the hallway. Footsteps were walking to down the hall, and each step was sounding louder than the first.

She undid the safety as a burly man stepped in her kitchen, his suit and shirt black as night. His beard was dark, trimmed and speckled with silver hairs.

"Who are you?" There she was with a gun in one hand and ice cream in the other. This man... He was too at ease with his hands in his pockets. And she recognized him.

His head tilted to the left. "I'm your informant, formerly your fathers."

 _Hence the familiarity._ She had seen this man before, in this very house.

"What do you want?"

The man didn't even flinch at her tone. "I'm guessing your old man didn't tell you anything. Figures. You're Benjamin Yard's daughter?"

 _A little late to be asking that._

"I am. What business do you have here?"

"Your father, your whole family for that matter, is in debt to my boss. Your father's company has been a key factor in moving revenue between companies. Some legal companies, some not so much. Once a month you will be invited into my boss' presence. It doesn't matter if you are out of the country, you _will_ attend."

For someone who was under the barrel of a gun, this man was playing the superior power very well. Olena's gun was beginning to shake. "My father wouldn't allow such a thing. You're lying!"

Ice cream started the track down her spoon and onto her hand.

"I have your instructions here."

The man reached into his suit coat and extracted two letters, still sealed.

"There is an important gala tonight. You go, you stay for an hour, then you follow these instructions." He slid both envelopes across the marble top. "You show up, bid if you want, pay your respects to the boss, then you go home. This is the deal we had with your father. Those responsibilities now fall to you as his heiress."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you obviously don't know who you are dealing with. Your family has been and will be in debt to the boss for many generations still to come."

The man walked away as if she wasn't holding a gun. He used the rear exit again.

"Wait!" She lowered the gun. "The boss! What's his name?"

But the mysterious man was already gone.

Olena's stare fell to the envelopes before her, feeling rather tempted to run for her life, or put the pieces of paper down the disposal.

Perhaps both.

* * *

Author's Note: Well that went well.

A lot of guns were involved in the 

first two chapters. It is progressing

very well, this story. We are learning

much about Olena and are watching a

plot thicken before our very eyes. Yes,

I think the next chapter will be rather 

fun. I hope you guys enjoyed this one.


	3. Three Men

**THREE MEN**

A state of panic, that's what this was.

Leaping from the shower into a black dress, she ran down the hallway, pausing only to slip heels onto her feet. Her long blonde hair was beginning to dry, but it remained tangled.

She found her phone with her purse on the kitchen island. She dialed Wagner, her family driver and told him that he was needed.

She took a deep breath and glared at the open envelopes. Galas were never her thing, but this party was for a children's charity. That did not seem so bad. The other letter, however... Was black and had to be held up to the light to be read. It told her where and when. It also said for her to not forget the mask.

Olena, gripping her purse, jogged back upstairs for her coat and jewelry. She knew the mask to wear to the after party.  
Walking into the library, Olena walked straight to a safe in the far wall. Exchanging her purse for another, she opened the wallet. The drivers license read Jasia Yard. She closed the wallet the a snap.

A mask and a top hat also sat in the safe, along with a couple wads of cash and passports.

The doorbell rang.

She gripped what was essential and closed the safe. She was at the front door a moment later and open it to the elder man. Wagner looked her up or down up-and-down with a smile, but the smile faded as his eyes took in what she held. "Oh no..." He whispered.

Olena held out the invitations. "These are the places we will be going tonight."

He took them from her. "I was hoping… I had thought that the last one," he hesitated, "was the last."

The wet haired blonde handed over the top hat, placing the mask inside it. She clears her throat. "Is it possible for us to stop by hair salon before we go? I couldn't really work with this," her right hand circles her head.

Wagner tried to smile before he helped her walk down the steps of the house. He opened the car door for her. "Certainly, Miss Yard, certainly."

Once Olena had all her junk together, she felt pretty. Though her efforts were rushed, she accepted that she liked what she saw in her hand mirror. Her small pink lips turned into a frown as she thought of the evening's festivities. The top hat with a silver skull engraved on it was somewhere in the front seat. The constant presence would not allow her to forget it.

 _Who is the boss?_

She shook her head gently. It wouldn't help things by stewing over it now. She would know soon enough and that terrified her. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she turns to the window.

The charity tonight was held at the Gotham Civic Center. This Civic Center was much nicer than any that she had been to, mainly because it has been fixed up by a rich bachelor from the city. The host of this party spared no expense, that much was obvious as there was a red carpet. Luxury cars were forming a line to pull up next to the curb. Olena had to wait in agonizing silence for minutes before their car had its turn. A banner hung perfectly above the entrance and read: COMMUNITY KID. The subscript under it read: A CHARITY FOUNDED BY THE WAYNE FOUNDATION.

There were cameras flashing and many well-known people were posing and smiling along the red carpet. Wagner opened the door for her and she was assaulted with sounds and bright sights. She was sure she made some of the most ugly faces as she dashed for the steps that lead up into the charity gala. As she passed, Wagner had made sure her hand took the correct letter of invitation. She showed the card to those manning the door, who sent her to a table full of lanyards and a checklist. A woman asked her name and she gave it, and in return handing Olena a lanyard with her name on it, accompanied with a number.

Olena attempted to casually set the lanyard over her nice hairdo, but the chances of success were slim at best. Her clutch began to ring as she was just about to join polite society. She paused long enough to open it and see that it said unknown caller on the ID. She took a steadying breath and answered it with a timid, "Hello?"

 _"Ms. Yard, or should I say the new Mistress Dark?"_

Olena ceased to breathe and the caller took that as encouragement.

 _"Get somewhere alone."_

She looked back and forth as guests passed her on either side. "Now's not really a good time."

 _"I don't care. Do as I say."_

Spotting some stairs to her left, Olena didn't think as she walked over to them. They led to a hallway which overlooked the party on the main floor. Soft music and chatter flowed over her, but the room was only partially full. She glanced at the screen displayed on her cell, searching for a number. There was none. She brought it back to her ear. "What do you want?"

" _Assurance. Are you planning on attending the after party?"_

"Are you my boss?" Olena attempted to sound fierce even though it felt like a farce.

 _"It doesn't work that way. I ask the questions and you answer with a simple yes or no. And don't even try to have this number traced."_

"Is no even an option?"

 _"If you don't want mommy and poppy's house to burn to the ground tonight, then no."_

Gripping the phone tighter than necessary, she spat, "Yes." She hung up immediately afterward, which felt slightly satisfying.

"Lovers spat?" Inquired a very drunk man who had recently come up a different set of stairs. He stumbled into the wall before sliding down. His face was average and the smell of alcohol was not working for him.

"Something like that," she left the man to his drink. She quickly made her way down to the party, which was only beginning.

Olena started the timer on her phone.

Fifty-nine minutes. It won't be long now.

She took a crystal flute from a passing waiter. Taking a sniff, she found it to be something slightly more tolerant than alcohol. The sparkling water was cleansing to the palette as she watched the people around her. An old woman spoke the loudest tonight, wearing more jewels on her body than was probably healthy. A young, but a fashionable couple were so engrossed in each other that they might as well be Adam and Eve. They were celebrities, no doubt. Olena wrinkled her nose. She had never been a fan of big romances, whether they be in Gotham or Hollywood. Half of them were shams, and the other half would divorce in a year or three. When you're married to your work, it's hard to find time for a third wheel.

Olena took another sip and her eyes trail to the balcony hallway she had been on not too long ago. That drunk man reminded her so much of all the teens she would see at her junior college. Many of the young adults had no ambition, caring for nothing but Friday nights.

A cold hand gripped her arm, and Olena whipped around so fast that her drink spilled... She looked on with horror as she realized who she had spilled upon.

"Mr. Wayne, I am so, so sorry!" Glancing about, she saw many eyes and a huge lack of napkins. Waiters and waitresses rushed forward to offer small towels.

"Don't worry about it. Ms. Yard, is it?"

"Ah, yes. That's me," she said, passing off the offending glass. "I am so sorry. How can I ever apologize?" _I just messed up the party benefactor's shirt!_

A young man stepped up next to Bruce Wayne, smartly dressed. "Oh, you can make it up to Bruce by having a dance with me."

Olena glances between the men uncertainly. "But there isn't any music-" Suddenly a live orchestra starts up on the far side of the room, louder than the soft background music from before.

The young man holds out a hand. Still, she hesitates. "Are you sure?"

Bruce Wayne stares blankly at the outstretched hand before smiling her way. "Sure." The smile wasn't uncomfortable, but it was controlled.

"Alright." She took young gentleman's hand, put her clutch-carrying hand on his shoulder, and allowed the handsome stranger to maneuver her towards the other dancers.

The phone in her purse felt like a ticking time bomb.

He grinned when she met his gaze again. "My name is Tim, by the way."

* * *

Author's Note: Notice my Boy Wonder

time scale may be off, but it is needed

at this point. I hope you have enjoyed

this story so far. Olena is a young, but

pretty mature college student. I use the

word "pretty" gently because even the 

most grown up of adults have bad days.

I can't wait to see what she thinks of Tim!


	4. Four Million

**FOUR MILLION**

"Jasia," Olena replied.

"Jasia. Now there is a name you don't hear everyday. Doesn't sound English," Tim kept them in time with the rhythmic song.

She didn't consider herself a very good dancer. She chose to listen to his young man instead and indulge his unspoken curiosity. "My mother loved Arabic. And my father... He thought it was just right."

"My condolences. His funeral was recently, wasn't it? I remember Bruce saying something about it."

"Thank you. Due to the investigation they held onto his body for a long time. The funeral was a couple weeks ago."

"What will happen to Yard Industries?"

Jasia hesitates in speaking as Tim spins her. "It will keep doing what it always does, building."

"It must be hard to watch the business go on as if nothing ever happened."

"Time, death, and work have one thing in common; they all don't respect mortals."

A growing silence caused her to glance at the young man. His look made her blush. She was spouting weird stuff again.

"Profound," he said, an eyebrow lifting, "since you sound so wise, can I ask you something?"

She shrugged. "I suppose."

"Why do so many women wear black dresses? I mean, this room is crawling with them. Present company included."

"Pardon me as I try to keep from taking offense... It's not every day I get the opportunity to betray my sex."

Richard's face winces. "Didn't mean to insult."

"I can't speak for everyone, but majority of women have at least one little black dress in their closets at all times. There is this belief that black looks good on all women, so we keep them in the case of a wardrobe malfunction, or surprise occasions."

"Which was it in your case?"

Olena studied Tim a little more. He was handsome. A well-proportioned body as well as a clean face. He looked healthy and extremely fit. _Probably works out everyday, like majority of rich kids. I'm a hypocrite.  
_  
"Probably both," she confessed.

His blue eyes blinked, a sharp contrast to his raven hair. Intelligence must dance behind those irises. "How come? The invitations were sent out months ago."

Because I was going to refuse until only a little while ago.

Olena twirls and spies a table on her side of the room. "I think I have a hankering for a snack, if you will excuse me."

Tim did not excuse her, but walked with her towards the refreshment table. Multiple topics of conversation crosses her mind, but Olena considered herself safe when a stampede of women ambush him.

She shook her head as the female posse surrounds him. Olena smiles as she reaches for a treat. "He's too respectable for his own good."

"I wouldn't call him that."

Across the table stood the man of the evening, new shirt and suit coat in place. "Mr. Wayne," she states, at a loss to say much else. She finds that she isn't very hungry anymore.

"Timothy's many things," Mr. Wayne continued, "but being modest didn't come naturally. He loved to show off. Still does."

"Ah," she responded while they both turn to watch Tim. As soon as he managed to untangle himself from one girl, another would clamp down on his arm. "Shouldn't you help him?"

"He can handle himself. That's what he keeps telling me, anyway." Mr. Wayne was at her side after moment, offering his elbow. "Allow me to take you to the other room. The bidding will start soon."

"Of course."

Bruce leans in. "My condolences."

Of course, she should have seen this coming. Her father had done nothing but rave about Bruce Wayne at least three times a day. So confident in the man, her father had at one point bought shares from Mr. Wayne's company. "Did you know him well?"

"We were very good business partners. His company built the building mine resides in right now. I'm sorry I couldn't make the funeral."

"Not many were able to. That's what I get for having it so late in the evening," Olena trails off, taking a seat in a green felt chair with silver detailing. The room began to fill with murmurs all around. It was then that Olena realized that she was sitting on the front row with Mr. Wayne taking a seat beside her. Something inside her begins to panic when there was two bangs and the assembly was called to order.

Mr. Wayne stood. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Tonight is a wonderful night for Gotham and its future. The future of the youth, to be exact. Because a child today will be an adult tomorrow, and as the leading influencers of our time, I urge you to..."

Timothy slid into the chair beside her, the very one his -Olena paused- guardian had occupied before. _There must be an interesting relationship there_ , she thought.

"Have I missed anything?" Tim's whisper tickled her ear and she fought to not lean away.

"Nothing too exciting."

"Good."

Bruce Wayne finished his speech and it was almost moving. Almost. His calm voice held very little emotion behind it aside from the vibe of contentment. All of it seemed a little too positive for her tastes, but she kindly smiled and nodded when it was appropriate.  
Everyone happily applauded Mr. Wayne's speech once it was over. Though this was all for a good cause, chances were the night would be full of monetary competition. And that was alright, she supposed, if it was all for good in the end.

Mr. Wayne noticed his chair had been stolen by his youth. The older man merely shrugged, one hand in his trouser pocket as he took a seat on Tim's other side. Olena tried to focus on all the bidding, but nothing caught her eye until a very old book was brought to the front.

"Now this is a wonder, ladies and gentlemen! The Bay Psalm Book! This is one of the eleven copies in the entire world-"

Olena gasped. That book, her father spoke so fondly of it. She didn't need the auctioneer to tell her about this one, as she did research on it last Christmas.

Tim shifted beside her. "What is it?"

"That book was one of my father's favorites."

"Why don't you bid on it?"

The auctioneer gripped his black lapels as he prepared himself for round three of the evening. "The bidding will begin at three-hundred thousand. Do I hear three thousand one? I've got one, do I hear two? Three thousand two!"

"That is why," Olena mumbled. She listened to the lively voice shouting out numbers with rapid succession. In almost no time at all they were nearing four-hundred thousand. She tried not to think about what she could do with that much money. Sure, she may have that much money in a bank account, but that was for when she turned thirty... Or when she had a child... Whichever came first. One reason why she was working evenings while attending school in the mornings. The last thing she needed right now was to dip too far into her savings.

"One million."

Olena, along with everyone else, twist to put a name to the voice. Her hands began to tremble. "Tim, what are you doing?"

"Now we're getting generous! Do I hear one million one hundred thousand?"

 _That's a jump!_

"One point two," rasped someone distinctly male from across the aisle.

"One million three hundred thousand!" Shouts a woman, standing up.

Tim stands up. "One point five!"

"Four million." The standing woman crossed her arms, looking haughty as she does it. Both men quiet and Tim slowly sat back down.

"I'm sorry, Jasia." Tim looked down and pressed his lips together. Olena bit her lip, reaching out a cold hand to grip his arm. She squeezed it so he would look at her. She smiled warmly. For someone she just became acquainted with, Olena knew that he was too good for her.

"Fourteen million."

The crowd sucks in all the oxygen and Olena leans over Tim with shocked eyes. Mr. Wayne is relaxed in his chair, one elbow propped up on the back of Timothy's chair. He looked like a lazy cat if she ever saw one! Strike the cat, this man was a panther!

"Ah-are you sure, sir?" The auctioneer stuttered, as if not believing his ears. Olena didn't blame him. She could hardly believe her own!

Bruce Wayne slowly blinked his eyes, coming to some sort of conclusion. "I'm sure."

"Bruce..." Tim trailed off before the auctioneer called for an applause. Many stood as they didn't know what else to do.

"Sold! To Bruce Wayne!"

Olena applauded with everyone else, watching the book be taken away with forlorn. It was a great investment, as the book would only rise in value. With only the Internet pictures, she had never been this close to something so valuable. It was considered something so precious and untouchable, she had even wondered if it truly existed. But here it was, a couple of yards away from her. Or at least it were, but now it lay in a padded and safe environment.

"Bruce," choked Tim, "did you just buy a book?"

The older man canted his head to the right in response, a grin threatening to appear.

"Yes, yes," shouted the auctioneer. "Shall we continue with the bidding process? Next we have a lovely ornate vase dated all the way back to..."

"My old man must have a hidden love for literature." Tim folded his suit covered arms with a grunt.

Olena covers her scoff with her hand. "He's not that old."

"He's not that young either."

Olena was just about to reply when she felt it. Her clutch was vibrating. Swallowing quickly, she steadied her next breath, "Excuse me while I powder my nose." She could feel it. Eyes were following her. Heels clicking softly, she made good time out of the room. She kept a steady pace as she opened her purse, the sound of bidding fading behind her. Staring at the screen, her fear was now confirmed.

Her time was up.

She pressed a contact under her favorites label and brought it to her ear. "Wagner... Please bring the car around."

* * *

Author's Note: What a fun evening! For

those of you who are wondering, yes, the

book is real. And, yes, it is not cheap. Book

lovers everywhere would understand, I'm sure.

For those of you who are in the United States,

please be careful with the clown scare. Olena

is fictional and is allowed to be put at gunpoint.

But please remember as Halloween arrives that

your life is priceless. We can't put a price on that.


	5. Five Villains

**FIVE VILLAINS**

Olena licked her lips for the forty-third time in the past thirty minutes. They were currently on the older side of Gotham. She could tell from the ever narrowing streets and the very few streetlights.  
She double checked her mask and top hat. The black silk of both assured her all was ready.

"Did my father really do this..?"

Wagner glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His gray eyes were sad. "Like clockwork."

"Did you always take him?"

"Yes, miss."

"I'm glad," she spoke softly, "That is, I'm glad he had someone to share this burden with."

Tires rolled to a stop and her driver turns in his seat. "Don't panic. Don't fear. Don't tremble. If it makes things easier, take on a persona. Your father told me once that he always pretended he was The Man in Black from that movie... What was it?"

"The Princess Bride."

"That was it. So you see? You can do it too. Just pick a character, no matter how silly, and pretend to be them."

Olena nodded to herself. _I can do that, I can do this,_ she thought. It was with squared shoulders that she stepped out of the car. Wagner, the speedy devil, was closing the doors behind her. He handed over the black invitation. "Do you want me to go with you?"

She hesitated for only a moment. "No, they will want me alone."

Wagner nodded once and lifted a finger to point slightly down the dark street. "That warehouse there. That's the place."

"I'll be back soon. Please call the cops if I don't contact you in one hour."

"I'll be here, miss."

Not giving herself time to think, she walked. Blond hair was in place, makeup was set, and her mask was in place. _Who should I pretend to be? If dad was The Man in Black then perhaps I should be Buttercup... No. She's bossy, then prideful. Men don't like women who act like either. But who does that leave?_

The pale warehouse loomed overhead.

 _I'm close! Think! Fast!_

A bulky mass stepped from the shadows. She couldn't see his face, but suspected it was round. Her tongue felt heavy. She held out the invitation, refusing to smile or frown. The giant of a man pulled out a scanner if some sort. After running the device over her card, he pocketed both. "Enter this way."

She entered the darkness, feeling it swallow her like the mouth of a large beast. She did feel like someone's supper as she made way for the only light at the heart of the building.

Many people were already there. Many criminals and villains were present, some of which she knew from news reports. The Riddler was easy enough to spot, as was the one they called Two-Face. Scarecrow, Penguin, and The Joker were also about the room. Some were seated at dusty tables with their goons. The Riddler sat alone with his feet propped up and his arms folded.

"Who's this?" Demanded Two-Face, making sure everyone saw his silver revolver.

He was looking right at her.

Olena froze at the edge of the circular light.

"You're obviously misplaced your memory again, my friend," laughs the Riddler, "It's Master Black."

"But it's a girl." Now all present turned to her. _Don't tremble. Now think. Which character would work? Hurry!_

"So it is!" The Joker slapped a table, "A most joyous transformation! Hee!"

"I don't like her." Penguin eyed her from his distance. "She's late."

"Then we should kill her," smiled Two-Face, searching his pockets for something. Olena's throat closes. She was going to die.

"Eh, I wouldn't do that," said Joker. His voice reeked with a mixture of madness and indifference. The pale creature was sitting on a crate without a care in the world. His red smile turned her stomach the wrong way.

"And why is that?" Growled Two-Face. Riddler was giggling like a teenager who knew the inside joke. Scarecrow and many other criminals in the room had yet to voice anything.

"Because," Joker grinned, "gents and hoes, a little birdie told me something very interesting. Master -oh, paaardon me! Mistress Black works for someone in this very room. Yes."

Everyone eyes each other. The distrust in the room was so thick Olena could taste it and the flavor wasn't savory.

"Well, who is it?" Bit out Penguin, his sharp jaw raised an inch.

"Ehe, how should I know?"

Someone else, a woman in black, spoke, "How are we to believe anything?"

"Isn't the answer to that is simple?" sighed Two-Face. "We aren't. Are we to assume you will be filling the role of Master Black?"

"Mistress Black," corrects Joker.

Finding herself being addressed once again, Olena steadily nodded and was careful to keep the top hat on her head.

"I still don't like her," grumbled Penguin.

Someone on the far right rolled their eyes skyward. "Shut up. Birds are so noisy."

Penguin's hand tightens on the umbrella and he was suddenly on his feet.

Scarecrow takes to the middle of the floor. "Now that we all properly hate each other, may I have your attention? The real reason we have convened tonight is for my latest biochemical weapon. It's a pill that triggers a tumor-like reaction in the brain. Once taken internally, their illness will form over the course of two weeks with no side affects. But once those two weeks are up," he snaps his fingers, "so quick are the symptoms that the target will die within ten minutes."

She shivered and folded her arms to hide it. The room remained silent. Scarecrow sighed before adding, "It also comes in lethal injection."

"Twenty million," says a man with a two colored mask. He was one of the few sanding and Olena could clearly spy two swords on his back. She tried to not balk at what had come out of his mouth. Think of something else. Like puppies. Tumor puppies. No! Puppies! Living, breathing, fluffier than a cloud puppies!

"Fifty million!"

"Fifty-five!"

"Fifty-six."

"Is that all you've got? Seventy million!"

"Seventy-five million."

"Boo! Eighty!"

"One billion," says the man with the swords.

"Two billion," shouts Joker, pointing to the sky.

"Three." The man with the bicolored mask calmly replied.

"Baaaah," groaned Joker, "Fine. I never cared for that whispery stuff anyway. Nothing in my life that a little gasoline and gunpowder can't fix."

"What gives, Slade?" A woman who was leaning against a pillar became the center of attention. "You know someone will steal it from you come morning."

"It would amuse me to see them try."

"Then that concludes this evening. Come over here, Mr. Slade." Scarecrow waved him over, opening a laptop.

Those sitting stood up and Olena took this opportunity to leave before anyone else. She contemplated taking more self defense classes in the near future. Her steps faltered.

 _The boss…_

She kept going.

Wagner was right where she left him, parked on the street. Rain poured over the streets, but Olena didn't want to waste the time to call him over, so she made a beeline for the car. Wagner was just getting out of the front seat when she settled herself in the back.

"Please start up the heater, Wagner."

"Of course, miss. Glad to have you back."

"Get me out of here." She yanked off the mask and hat, glowering at the abandoned coat she had left in the car.

"Yes."

It took much longer than normal to reach the house, probably due to all the crazy roads Wagner took. He said it was mandatory to check for any tails. She agreed. It was too late to do anything else.

Once the house was in sight she could breathe. There was air in the world again.

The older man threw the car into park, keeping his hand on the gear selector. "If you don't mind me asking, miss... Who were you tonight?"

Olena forced a smile. "Ariel."

"The Little Mermaid?"

"The very one, Wagner. After she lost her voice. Have a good night."

"Would you like me to-" But Olena was already out the door and into the pouring rain. She trotted up the stone steps and fished out her keys. _Thank God for waterproof makeup_ , she thought, opening the door. The foyer was dark. She closed the front door and felt for a light switch. She turned after flipping it on.

She gasped.

A man in red stood close.

* * *

Author's Note: Hm, looks like Olena

has a visitor. Thank you for taking 

time to read this fanfic today. You all

deserve a cookie. For those wondering

about my Loki fanfic, it is on its way.

Hopefully it will be ready next week.

Until next time friends!


	6. Six Bugs

**SIX BUGS**

He lifted one finger to where his mouth would be, forbidding her to speak. He dragged her to the closest bathroom and shoved her inside. He turned to the shower, twisting the knob on full blast. Perhaps, in another life, he would be starting her water as a sign of kindness after the evening she had just experienced. That wasn't this life, however, and she wasn't a stupid teenager with a crush. She was in the bathroom with a killer. She was about to run for her life when he stepped in her way and turned on the sink. He seemed dead set on wasting water. Or perhaps he was planning on using some old torture technique.

"You have a lot of nerve calling me a murderer when you rub elbows with psychopaths," Red Hood leaned his back against the door.

 _Red Hood._

Here.

In my house.

Olena covers her face with her hands. "Calm down, calm down..." Cold, wet, at wit's end, and with a criminal in her house. The evening's events were beginning to catch up with her, replaying over and over in her mind.

Red Hood watched her, unmoving from his position. From his comfortable perch, one would think he was here on a friendly visit. "I have half a mind to shoot you now."

"You aren't helping," she whispered, crouching low over her knees. She needed to breathe. _Think, no, no. Don't think. Breathe. Breathe unless you want hypoxemia. Or was it hypoxia? Doesn't one lead to the other? Shouldn't I know this?  
_  
"Hey, Olivia, are you listening to me?"

She held up a lone finger as if she were pointing to the sky. Mr. Hood was having none of that. He shoved her hand away. "I won't wait. I know you were at that meeting tonight with those crooks. You may think you can sway me with this damsel charade, but you are no better than them."

 _Damsel!_ That got her to raise her head. "Fine," she gasped, "since you so obviously knew about that meeting, why didn't you go in and kill everyone? We both know you could."

"Because I had a better idea." He crouched down, so he was eye-level. "I'm going to use my own little mole." She would have to wish him well in his efforts if she had liked him but seeing as she didn't she remained silent. The way he had said it, the way he watched her, the way he was keeping silent now brought the whole picture together.

"Me," she whispered with hands tightening over her knees. "Wait. How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

He just laughed. "Here's how this is going to work. You go on with your little life as normal. You hear anything valuable, you tell me. You have another meeting, you tell me. If one of them takes you to dinner, you tell me."

"And there's no alternative?"

"Unless you consider execution an alternative."

"Well," she dragged out, trying not to think about the threat seriously. He just said he would kill her. In all honesty, that didn't sound too horrible. She had a biology test first thing in the morning, and all of her relatives were already dead. The woman didn't consider herself suicidal, only less fearful of the idea of death than most.

He cut off what was to be said. "I've visited death before. Wouldn't recommend it."

The red man stood over her. His body language seemed to be asking her a question. She needed to clarify one thing. "Why are we in my bathroom?"

"I found six bugs in your living room with there possibly being more. The landline is probably tapped. Be careful with what to you say from now on."

"You searched my house?"

"For almost an hour."

She sucked in a breath while her face warmed. Normal people don't do that. Normal people have good intentions. Normal people watch football. "Get out of my house!"

"Hey," he got in her face, "You forget who holds the gun in this relationship-"

"What relationship? This is blackmail!" Her hand was reaching out to shove him, but he moved before she could touch him.

"-and I can kill you if and when I please. Shut your mouth! Don't cry to me, you liar!"

Heartless as a block of wood, that's what he was. With his helmet being as red as blood and a robotic voice as flat as a dead heartbeat, Olena found herself cold. She was shivering uncontrollably. Red Hood had not turned the hot water on full-blast, that much she was sure of.

She fought through her frigid state and evaluated. He would have killed her already if he cared to. He had turned on the water as not to be heard. Perhaps Gordon had bugged her house. Or... It could have been her new boss... Either was better than her current company. She wanted him gone.

Olena opened her mouth to scream, but he was anticipating that. He stopped any sound and gripped her jaw painfully tight.

"I'll contact you under the name John Crane. Don't forget it." He released her and left. He was just gone. He was there and then he… She groaned and removed her earrings. She threw her jewelry across the bathroom and was ready to scream. As Red Hood had done her the service of checking the downstairs bathroom of bugs and cameras, Olena graced that room with her nightly ritual. And after she had been a witness to two murders, been in league with super criminals, and blackmailed all night long, Olena did the only thing a nineteen-year-old girl would do in her current situation.

She went to bed. With the blue blankets pulled all the way up to her nose and wet hair, she left the light on. _I can't think. My brain hurts. Does this mean I have two bosses? If you count my work boss, that makes three… Oh, wait, if you count my professors that's… I don't even want to know. They're teachers, so they shouldn't really-  
_  
She sat up. "The test!"

Immediately she laid back down. "If only they knew the kind of night I've had. They'd understand…"

Olena didn't have the smoothest of mornings.

She woke late which meant she slept through her first three alarms. Her safety measure, the sound system downstairs, was set with a fourth alarm. The blast of hard metal had her falling [un]gracefully out of bed. She was late in leaving for her first class of the day, but Wagner was a miracle worker, and so she made it. Barely. A lung was left back on the sidewalk somewhere, but she made it.

The test had been harder than she'd anticipated. Multiple times she looked up and gazed about the classmates. Were any of them having as hard of a time of it like her? The constant scratching of pens and pencils made her doubtful.

At that moment she looked to the front of the room and met the eyes of her professor. The teacher raised an eyebrow, nodding for her to get back to work. Perhaps he was a slave driver in a past life, or perhaps he was simply an impatient man. Either way, she finished her test quickly and left for her next class.

Her third and final class of the day was English. How she ended up taking such a basic class her second year of college, she couldn't explain. The half-filled report stares blankly back at her. As soon as the blonde paused to think, she thought about yesterday. It didn't feel real. The conscience inside of her warred over a simple question. Would she tell Commissioner Gordon?

Movement out of the corner of her eye caused Olena to lift her head.

The English professor stood up from her desk. "Let's talk about a subject that may help you understand the basics of a persuasive paper. Let's talk about the subject of torture. Jonathan, are you for or against the use of torture?"

A handsome boy, the teacher's pet, sat back from his hunched position. He flicked his dark hair out of his eyes, and it was evident he was a freshman. "I suppose I'm for it."

Professor Sanders folds her arms and her nonverbals make Olena want to squirm in her seat. She could tell which side this teacher was on. "Why?"

"Because it helps keep our country safe."

"Safe? Safe how?"

"Well... Say, like, we need to get information about a terrorist attack before the attack can happen. We can't wait around all day interrogating someone who may not talk."

"But does that make torture alright? Even to the point of killing the one tortured?"

Jonathan answered a little more slowly. "In certain instances, yeah. I wouldn't say it's, like, good all the time. But it's still useful."

Professor Sanders leaned over her desk; hands braced on its top. "Alright. Say you killed someone to gain information to save a city, would you do it?"

Jonathan scoffed. "Yeah."

"To save a hundred?"

"Well, yeah."

"What about ten?"

"...I would."

"What about to save one person?"

No one, including Jonathan, let their real thoughts show. After a momentary silence, Jonathan tried to speak. "I..."

The professor straightened and crossed her arms. "And, suddenly, you're playing God."

No one says anything.

No one moves.

Olena began to wonder if they all ceased to breathe.

The teacher smirked sadly at her students. "I took one side and Jonathan took the other. We each made our case. If you are going to take a stand, don't pull your punches. And, above all, don't shoot yourself in the foot. You will lose ten points every time you contradict yourself in this paper. Make it good. You're all free to go."

Olena stepped into the hall and watched as Jonathan disappeared around the corner at a fast clip. She didn't blame him. He may not be the teacher's pet anymore.

She made her way to the bus stop just outside her building, continuing her Monday ritual. She took her lunch at a cafe just a few blocks from her job, ordering her usual. The large window at her booth was her television. She watched the people walking the street, but not seeing them. Her mind replayed her last class again, and again. Was torture ever alright? Was execution? She wanted to vehemently say it was never okay, but she didn't. She couldn't. Why would Red Hood do what he does unless there was a benefit? She wasn't naïve enough to assume the tactics didn't hold merit. If they all lived in a perfect world, torture wouldn't even be needed.

But the world wasn't a perfect place.

She sighed while she stared deeply into her coffee cup, the rest of her sandwich forgotten. No, it wasn't perfect, but that didn't make the moral stuff any easier to decide on. _How do lawyers and politicians do it?_ She squeezed the bridge of her nose.

Someone knocked on the window.

Olena opened her eyes to see blue eyes staring right back. Exhausted blue eyes. "Tim?"

He nodded and entered the cafe. He bought himself a cup of coffee before striding over. "Hey, I was on my way back to my car when I saw you. Is this seat taken?"

"Ah, no," she dragged out the last word, gesturing for him to claim the seat, "Wow. What are the chances?"

"I know. I was looking forward to dancing with you once more last night, but you disappeared during the auction. Bruce was worried."

"Mr. Wayne was worried?"

"Okay, I was the one worried."

She hummed. "That's more likely."

"Where did you run off to? Not a socialite?"

"Gosh no, I always avoided those things like they were the plague growing up."

"Then why go to Bruce's?"

Olena made an uncommitted shrug, looking out the window at all the life passing by. She had crept on hundreds of people from this very seat, guessing the stories that the momentary strangers lived. It was almost tradition, in a way, to people watch.

"I have to keep up appearances, you know?" _Literally,_ she wanted to add.

"Yeah, I kinda get that. Your parents were prominent social figures. They gave a lot to Gotham." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see he was watching the people, too. He continued. "They shouldn't be forgotten, but do me a favor. Stay true to yourself. Don't let others define you," he smiled around his coffee cup.

"How's that a favor?" She sipped from her cup, finding it was already turning lukewarm. Bummer.

Tim's cell went off, and he was quick to silence it. After glancing at the screen he stood and pushed his chair back under the table. "It's a favor because I like you and I want you to like you, too. I'll see you around, Jasia."

He walked out and waved from the other side of the glass, phone to ear. When he was out of sight, Olena shoved her cup away and laid her head on the table. Her phone vibrated, and she jumped. Unlocking it, she read the text from an unknown ID.

 _'Save this number. It's John Crane.'_

"Who..?" _Oh, wait. It's him._ She had almost forgotten with her crazy morning. Sighing, she saved his number putting his first name as John Crane and his last name as Captain Obvious. That made her almost smile when she texted back, _'Aye aye, Captain.'_

She loved her own inside jokes. Her phone immediately vibrated.

 _'Don't make me come after you.'_

It was hard for her to take his threat seriously at the moment. It was like she was texting a stranger she would never see again, but she needed to remember that this guy was a criminal. _'Wouldn't dream of it, Sir.'_

 _'Delete this conversation.'_

She rolled her eyes in response but did as he demanded. She took a sip of Tim's still hot coffee and made a face. He drank his black. Bleh.  
Setting the cup on her almost empty cup, she saw what lay under. A nicely folded twenty dollar bill. _That cheeky little raven fellow!_ She would have to get him back. They weren't dating so this was war.

She stood and left for work, ready to gain some normalcy back in her day.

* * *

Author's Note: And the plot thickens. This chapter

was a fun to write. It may be just me, but I enjoyed

the meeting from Jason. He got rid of some bugs, he

can't be all evil. Did you notice this chapter was longer?

Finding the line between what is right and wrong, what is

necessary and what is ethical can be so hard in the world.

Jason is an interesting fellow due to his sense of justice.

Thank you Keviana for catching all those misused words in 

chapter two. Take an oreo to go!


	7. Seven AM

**SEVEN AM**

She was out of bed at blessed seven am on a Sunday morning, almost regretting not sleeping in. Walter's call had woken her.

The phone conversation consisted of her almost becoming annoyed with him. "Walter, what gives?"

People get up earlier and are far more chipper in the morning and Walter was no exception. _"Ma'am, it's Sunday."_

"I am well aware of that, but it's seven! Who in their right mind calls so early? Why are you calling anyway?"

 _"You told me to. It's Sunday."_ His voice crackled over the other line. He didn't believe in smartphones.

"I what? That's... I did. Okay. I'm awake. Thank you for being so faithful, Walter."

 _"Of course. I will be there in forty minutes."  
_  
That was how Olena found herself sitting the back of a car, barely awake. She roused herself when the tires rolled to a stop. Her driver said nothing when she opened her door and got out. She slipped her hands deep into black London Fog coat and walked up the cement steps. She tanned her head back to spy out the one tall steeple. It was with light fingers she touched the worn wood of the door before pushing it open.

It barely made a sound when she slipped through. A few elderly people stood off to the side, catching up on old times no doubt. They hardly noticed Olena as walked down the short hallway to the right. She hung a left and ducked under a chain that leads to some steps. She entered the balcony area with a familiar ease.

This was her parent's place. They met here; they married here, and they both were granted their dying wish of having their funerals here. The padded pews below were bound to fill with people in thirty minutes, but Olena wasn't interested in staying.

"Back again, eh?"

To her right was a woman who sat in a pew, clothes matching her seat. The woman's name was Hilde, the caretaker of the building.

Olena faced forward again and stared at a stained glass window. The sun was just beginning to hit it. "I know they aren't here, but I feel closer to them somehow when I visit."

The elder woman laughed. "Dear, that's what we crazy old people call Moments. Memories that are only felt."

"That's," Olena paused, "not what I thought you were going to say."

"Hm, they ask about you, you know. I told them that I had seen you- that you duck in and out of here every week. We aren't upset or anything like that. We just want to make sure you are well taken care of."

Olena swallowed, thinking of how drastically her world had changed in the past month. "Hilde, is it ever alright to kill someone?"

The pew squeaked in protest when the woman turned. Olena leaned her weight on her other foot, wishing she could have taken that back. She tried to backpedal. "Sorry, I shouldn't be bringing that up-" Not here.

"Oh, don't give me that! Of course, you should. You know I treat you like my own daughter."

Olena smiled sadly down to herself. Hilde cleared her throat. "Is it ever alright to murder? No. Never. Is it ever alright to kill someone in defense? That's... That's between you and the One who made you."

Olena shifted uncomfortably. "How did I know you would say that?"

"Because you came here to ask the question. That being said, don't take my word for it. Find out the truth for yourself. Search for it and tell me what you find."

Olena nods with arms crossed in an attempt to hug herself. She took in the various colors of glass; the red shades stood out the most.

"I will."

* * *

Thunder rolled in the distance. An unwelcome reminder of how it was Fall and winter was right around the corner. Gotham was humid all year round, but it made more of an effort to rain in the colder months.

Olena pulled up her hood, dialing Wagner. She told him to meet her at her favorite cafe, the very same one she frequents most days.

Bark's Cafe was like a home away from home. This was the place her father took her after her high school graduation. She knew this place so well that she could name most of Bark's staff.

There was a soft twinkling of bells when Olena entered her cafe. She might as well wait for Walter here, warm caffeine in hand.

"Hello, Olena. The usual?"

Olena tore her gaze from the menu, though she had the whole thing memorized. She smiled at the man behind the counter. "Hi there, Matthew. Nah, just the coffee today."

He scribbled her order down, nodding once. "I'll warm up the French press."

"Thanks. By the way, did you change your shift? I didn't see you yesterday."

"I was here, just had to help out in the back. We are a little short staffed right now."

"I see. I hope you guys get some help soon then." She smiled at no one in general and took a seat at her booth. On the far wall of the shop was five small pictures of famous people in Gotham. She couldn't name the others but she knew at least one.

Pulling out her phone, Olena pulled up Google and searched Bruce Wayne. She clicked on a few links, all of which were news articles. There was even one with a picture of her back at the charity gala. "A mysterious woman spilled her drink all over Bruce Wayne, the host and main benefactor for Community Kid. Oh, snapdragons. Is that the back of my head?" Olena's nose wrinkled at the sight of the poorly taken photo on the website. It was a sight obviously captured by the quick use of a smartphone.

Why can't people mind their own business instead of exploiting innocent, albeit a little clumsy, human beings?

People always tried to make something out of nothing. It was like the dad scandal all over again. Her father had been accused of cheating on his wife with his new secretary. People had started to gossip and write stories, questioning if Olena's mother was her mom. She did not resemble her mother much, but that doesn't mean she was an illegitimate child. And even if she were, people shouldn't be making a big deal out of it.

"Pointless, it's all pointless." Olena could feel a gaze burning the side of her face. She turned her head to see Matt standing near her table. His considering gaze made her slightly uncomfortable. "How long have you been standing there?"

He sat the coffee down. "Long enough to know you like to talk to yourself."

Olena chuckled and picked up the mug. "More than you know." She took a sip, but immediately spat it back out.

Matthew crossed his arms and hung his head. He held out his hand for the cup. "New guy. Here, I'll personally make the next one."

She wiped her mouth with a nearby napkin as she passed the cup back. "I was about to question your coffee making abilities."

The brunette simply shook his head before he made his way back to the counter. Olena watched as Matt spoke to someone she didn't recognize. It was a short teenager with blond hair. She could name all the other employees, including the cook, but this boy had no name in her mind.

She looked back at her phone and swiped the second and the third pages of Google. A link had conspiracy written in all uppercase letters caught her gaze. In summary, it said something about Bruce Wayne having a son. Now that was interesting because to her knowledge there have only been to one child in Bruce Wayne's life and that was Ward. She clicked on the link.

There was a clatter in the kitchen that made Olena jump, but she settled again soon after and pretended not to notice. She's just time to scroll down a long article. Dates and times dotted the writing. Blurry pictures were taken and she was halfway through the post when she began to gather the idea of the article.  
The first child that was taken in the Wayne Manor was a boy named Richard Grayson, his parents died by the hand of the Joker. He was then later adopted and grew up. He moved away, but shortly after another kid named Jason Todd was taken in after his parents died. Some time after he was adopted, he died. Another child was then taken in after the death of his parents and adopted. That child was Timothy Drake, the current Ward.

The author went on to speak about how a pattern seemed to be forming around Bruce Wayne, but that pattern was now believed to be broken. There was a blurry picture of a young child on the Manor grounds. The author of this article argued that another child has been taken into the Wayne Manor.

"This is so weird." Olena continued reading.

 _'...and although Mr. Wayne has shown the world over that he is for charity, one cannot overlook how all these young but similar boys end up in his home.'  
_  
The article ended with an updated list of known dirty cops and detectives in Gotham, trying to prove that we all can mistake what is good in the world. Scanning the list, she was relieved to see that Gordon's name wasn't there.

Olena shoved blonde hair away from her eyes when she looked up, staring at the framed picture. I wonder what happened to Jason.

A cup landed on her table, causing the young woman to leap. Matthew apologized for the wait and turned quickly to get back to work.

"Matt, wait a sec." He came back with raised eyebrows, eyes going between her and her newly made coffee. She waved her hand. "I'm sure it's fine. What I want to ask is... how should I put this? Do you trust the police?"

He stared at her with an expression that could pass as shocked, incredulous, and blank. All of which were uncomfortable and had her tripping over herself to say more.  
"What I mean to say is- can they protect us? Not all of them are good, but surely the majority is, right? And we should do everything in our power to help them, right? Am I... am I making any sense?"

Matthew took a breath and grabbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to admit I don't like cops, never have. That's not to say that they don't help, but it has been my experience that cops are the cleanup crew. Rarely do they ever get there in time to make a difference."

Her phone rang, crying for her attention. "Thanks," she pulled out her phone and hit the green button. She sensed Matt leaving her side as she looked out the window, phone to ear. "Are you here?"

 _"I can be if you want me to."_

"What do you want?" Placing her money on the table, Olena got herself out of the Bark's. She huddled near the brick wall and watched the rain fall.

 _"The boss isn't too happy that you left so quickly the other night. Seemed in a bit of a hurry."_

"Who is he?"

 _"He wanted me to tell you that you both will meet very soon, preferably over tea. Oh, and he also said to bring your bank account number."  
_  
Olena gritted her teeth and rubbed her eyes. This was not going to end well. "Am I allowed to bring my own bodyguards?"

 _"Make sure they are expendable."  
_  
The line went dead.

A few minutes later Wagner pulled up, and Olena ran for the black car. She asked him to take her home as she pulled out her phone again. She typed out a quick message to Captain Obvious.

 _They called. A meet will be soon. Said I can bring bodyguards._

The reply was almost instantaneous.

 _Good._

 _Delete this conversation._

* * *

Author's Note: Happy Near Year!


End file.
